Nightswimming
by Ayiana2
Summary: Repost. Missing scene for 8.01. After three months apart, Booth and Brennan struggle to find their way back to each other.


A/N: This is a repost of a story I first put up about a week ago. It got pulled because of three lines of quoted lyrics included before the opening paragraph. Then my account got blocked for two days, which is why I'm only just now putting the story (sans lyrics) back up. Those of you who have already read and reviewed have my gratitude and my apologies. While I'd much prefer responding to each of you individually, when the site admins pulled the story they also deleted my reviews. Again, please accept my blanket thanks and know that I really did appreciate hearing from each and every one of you. And now, on with the story.

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He wakes to an empty bed and snaps upright, instantly alert. His heart skitters with worry because he doesn't know yet that she's only downstairs, and the memory of a hundred lonely nights is still too fresh to ignore. The house is quiet. He tilts his head, listening, and when he hears his daughter snuffle in her sleep a slow smile spreads across his face. That's when he realizes that the silence isn't the empty, oppressive type that he'd begun to grow accustomed to, but rather the living, breathing stillness of a house that harbors a family. He isn't alone, an acknowledgement that does much to calm his racing pulse. Still, a mix of curiosity and concern has him rolling to his feet and dragging on a pair of boxers.

Downstairs, Bones trails waiflike through patches of light and shadow. She's barefoot, and the shirt she wears is his, making her image on the security footage almost ghostly.

She couldn't sleep—a fact which had her getting out of bed rather than risk waking him. She'd noted the shadows under his eyes and the lingering tension in his carriage. He needed his rest more than she needed his reassurance. Besides, he can't help her with this, can't begin to understand what it's like, this need to reacquaint herself with a home she hasn't seen in three months, a home she'd only just begun to feel truly comfortable in.

He checks on Christine, his chest swelling with happiness when he finds her sleeping peacefully in her crib. He crosses to her, rests light fingers on her back, takes in the rise and fall of it beneath his touch. She isn't as small as he remembers, or as fragile, but she's still the little girl he helped Bones give birth to all those months ago. His little girl. _Their_ little girl. Love rises in his chest and blocks his breath for a moment, and he withdraws his hand, lest somehow the intensity of his feelings wake her up. He still doesn't know where Bones is, or that, as her hand grazes over one of his hockey sticks, tears rise to her eyes.

There's an awkwardness between them that she doesn't understand, an unnamable tension that's as uncomfortable as it is unfamiliar. He's sensed it, too, and though neither truly understands its source, both are saddened by it. And so while Booth hesitates at the top of the stairs, unsure whether or not to go to her, she moves from the den into their home office, drops into the leather desk chair she'd bought him as a housewarming gift, and lowers her head onto her folded arms.

He finds her there not long after, but stops in the doorway. He says nothing, merely watching her, noting the play of moonlight and shadow against her newly-darkened hair and pale skin. She doesn't notice him at first, her mind having drawn her back to the early days of their partnership, days when, though they hadn't really known each other yet, they trusted each other with their lives.

How had they gotten from that to this strange unease?

Gradually she becomes aware of another presence in the room and knows that he's come for her. She doesn't lift her head, though, and she says nothing. What could she say that hasn't already been said? How many times will she have to apologize before he'll believe her?

The room lies in quiet shadow, stalemate, really. He stands unsure of how to approach her.

And she sits, wishing he would try.

In the end, as these things happen sometimes, they both spoke at once.

"Bones…"

"Booth…"

They stop. Smile a little. Bones ducks her chin. Booth raises an eyebrow.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asks, even though the answer is obvious.

"No." She lifts a shoulder. "Too quiet."

She doesn't tell him that life on the run meant cheap motels with thin walls. It's okay, though. He's FBI. He knows.

He says nothing at first. Then, "I slept in the den while you were gone," he offers.

"Why?"

His shrug mirrors the one she'd given moments before. "Bed's too big for one."

Pelant has taken much from them. More than her office at the lab or his in the Hoover building. More than her freedom and his peace of mind. Pelant has, at least for now, taken a piece of what made them special. Booth resents Bones for leaving. He can't help it, really. And Bones resents Booth for failing to understand how desperate she must've been in order to leave at all.

Their eyes meet, hold, across the darkened room.

"I love you, you know." His low voice warms the cool night air. "Nothing's ever going to change that." It's a risk to say that last part. He half expects her to rebut it. When she doesn't, a hint of what might be hope dawns in his eyes.

"I love you, too," she says.

He'd made the first verbal step, offered the first white flag. She gets to her feet and crosses to stand before him. Her hands come to rest against his chest. His skin is warm. Hers is soft. Their gazes catch again.

And when she rises to kiss him, he meets her halfway.


End file.
